Tharunka Issue 03 - Hot & Cold Takes

Welcome to Tharunka

Established in 1953, Tharunka is UNSW’s longest running, and spiciest student publication. While we started as a student newspaper, we have since expanded our scope to include different styles of art and writing that capture the UNSW student experience.

In all of our past and current issues, you’ll see student opinion, personal reflections, comics, digital art, short stories, and poetry. And on our website, you’ll find our juiciest articles, including student journalism, university critiques, current affairs, and political and cultural opinions. Like our Facebook page and follow us on Instagram (@tharunkaunsw) to stay updated.

Tharunka acknowledges the traditional custodians of this land, the Cammeraygal, Gadigal, Bidjigal people of the Eora Nation, on which each campus of UNSW is situated.

Interested in contributing?

Is there anything you think the university should change? What makes you angry about the world? What is going on right now that everyone needs to hear about?

Tharunka is edited, designed, and written by students, so we thrive on student submissions. If you’re interested in contributing to Tharunka’s journalism and opinion section, or just looking for an outlet for your creative non-fiction, art, essays, poems, stories, reviews, or anything else that comes to mind, send a two-sentence pitch about your idea to: tharunka@arc.unsw.edu.au

Alex Neale Managing Editor

Laura Wilde Features Editor

Harrisen Leckenby Lead Reporter

Katelin Jaegers Lead Designer

2022 team

roaring 20s

It’s a funny old time for me to be writing a goodbye letter. In almost every facet I’ve been involved in at Tharunka, things are being built at the foundational level.

suppose there are some things we’ve said goodbye to this year. We said it to lockdowns and COVID restrictions, to peace in Europe’s east, and to a bloke named Scotty. We said it to inperson lectures as the norm, to real grass on the village green, and to eight degrees in the ADA faculty. With 2020 proving so divisive and challenging for so many, and ‘21 not letting up, ‘22 was just... kind of a year. The intermission.

Over the pandemic, Tharunka has blossomed from a collection of student musings, personal essays and amateur poetry to a budding stalwart of campus journalism. Sharing the news of the near-universally unpopular ADA changes, reporting on SRC elections, updating students on society initiatives, university projects and the like, were not part of Tharunka’s job description to the current extent even 2-3 years ago.

You’ll find in the following pages a resoundingly echoed call of ‘just get the fuck on with it.’ ‘Hot & Cold Takes’ is an insight on what our community thinks about, in spite of it self. We, the student base, drink more beer than we’re interested in drinking out of social obligation. We use

And this made me wonder, in our time of dating apps, we’re all of a sudden shocked with the idea of your parents assisting in finding a potential partner for you. Why is this the case?

Are modern Arranged Marriages any different from finding love on Dating Apps?

Are modern Arranged Marriages any different from finding love on Dating Apps?

by Abhranil Hazra

Disclaimer: Before we begin, I am against arranged marriages where you’re forced to marry someone against your own will. Everyone should be allowed to pick the person they choose to spend the rest of their lives with. I also acknowledge that arranged marriages in ancient times within the same religion, caste and ethnicity, or race resulted in harmful discrimination.

Let’s look at how Tinder functions. You’re shown profiles of people in your local area and are given the option to choose someone or not. The app gives you the option to filter your matches according to age, geographical boundaries and if you pay for a premium version, to filter other details such as smoker or non smoker, wants children or doesn’t.

In all honesty this isn’t that different from arranged marriages that are decided by one’s financial condition, career etc. Once you chose the person provided by the app, you get to know each other through messaging, and if things go well you meet. If things went well, you could commit to a relationship. If they didn’t go well, the matter ended there.

IllustrationandDesign byKellyQuach

In our day and age, dating apps have become the norm when finding a partner. Algorithms are used to match you with an individual who you’ve never met. When thinking of this as the new form of romance (except for hookups), I can’t help but think of the arranged marriages that surrounded me as I grew up.

Growing up with South Asian heritage, I was aware of a few family friends who opted for arranged marriages when finding a partner; however, this arranged marriage came with a modern twist. Here’s how it would work: your parents would meet the potential partner’s parents. After that, your parents would bring your partner to meet with you. You would have a chance to get to know your partner, and your partner would get to know you for a while. If things worked out, you were in a relationship. If not, the matter ended there – in effect you “unmatched”.

An example of this happened to a family friend of ours Rahul* where, at the age of 33, he decided to get married; his parents looked for a suitable partner. After finding one, her and Rahul would meet, along with both families. They were given at least 3 months to get to know each other and see if a spark was there. For them, there turned out to be a spark and the engagement followed. The wedding took place in a hotel on the beachside of southern Mumbai.

Abhranil Hazra is a final year student studying International Studies and Media (Journalism and Communications) in UNSW. He loves travelling, current affairs and cricket!

With the advent of COVID-19 and people with less time on their hands, dating apps have filled in the void in an increasingly lonely and atomised society. What would be different if modern arranged marriages also came into the mix? Both dating apps and arranged marriages play into the concept of a third party playing matchmaker for potential relationships. Both provide you an option to ‘swipe right’ with someone you would like, and in both cases you spend time with someone to decide whether or not you want to move forward with them.

In many ways, both dating apps and arranged marriages reinforce the idea that, throughout human history, it’s common to have a matchmaker to help individuals find love. Perhaps we should get used to the idea that it’s more common than not to have a third party as a matchmaker. This might help reduce any shame, stigma, and cultural misunderstanding that develops when people judge matchmade relationships as less authentic.

*Name changed to protect identity.

Abhranil Hazra

Hot

Khandoker Taseen

Stephanie Ung

Unapologetic Fangirl Hot & Cold Takes

Hot & Cold Takes Hot & Cold Takes

Artwork

Danushi Perera ArtworkDanushi Perera

IllustrationbyJelenaXu

Who Made Beer the Boss of Summer?

by Jack Nivison

Two men sit at a rooftop bar, quietly sipping their schooners of lager as a lively assortment of revellers dance the sunbathed afternoon away. They’re supposed to be having a good time, but something is off. One of the men looks up from his lukewarm, headless beverage, and scans the crowd for anybody who might be listening. He leans over to his friend, certain that he’s in the clear, before he speaks those five fateful words.

“I don’t like beer anymore.”

The party stops dead in its tracks. The world is at a standstill.

Impossible.

This, if readers have not caught on —, is a dramatic reading of the wildly popular Canadian Club ad campaigns which have aired during the Australian summer since 2018.

The ad, and subsequently the drink itself, has spent nearly four years thriving off the image it has created as an alternative to beer.

It serves as a reminder of the debate over whether beer is, for Australians, a drink that revels in cultural obligation rather than any sort of genuine preference. In a recent poll conducted by Tharunka, three questions were asked of respondents:

Do you appreciate the taste of beer?

Do you tolerate beer in social settings?

Do you flat-out dislike beer?

There were one hundred and fifty-eight total respondents, with an even spread of seventy-nine between those who identify as male and female.

All respondents were between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five.

The aim for this catchment of data was to assess whether or not there was a genuine, overwhelming appreciation for beer amongst young Australians, or whether any other patterns may have been prevalent. Despite the fanfare surrounding alternatives to beer, the statistics show that appreciation for beer is far more than superficial. The data showed a distinct divide: that of gender.

Of the sample of seventynine males, 63% percent agreed that they did, in fact, appreciate the taste of cool, refreshing lager.

On the contrary, the female identifying population overwhelmingly disliked beer, with 61% of respondents expressing their open dislike of beer.

More men than women were also willing to engage in social beer drinking despite not necessarily being fond of the drink itself.

However, the number of beer enthusiasts only made up 45% of the total surveyed population, with 65% either disliking beer or only consuming it in a social setting.

It seems, then, that perhaps that traditional reverence of barley and wheat-based alcohol is slowly making way for substitutes like Canadian Club and Lazy Bear.

Sana Srivas, 20, is an Industrial Design student at UNSW, and she believes that beer has exposed various self-image-related issues across the gender spectrum.

“Women tend to steer away from beer because it is extremely calory dense.” she said.

“Social beer drinking is almost a ‘no-no’ because of this, and I say that in quotations because that’s obviously not a healthy mindset to have.”

Sana believes that capitalism and marketing have, for decades, had an influence on drinking culture.

“It’s not about the product, it’s how the product is perceived. As long as it seems masculine, it seems cool.”

This sentiment was echoed by Gabriel Esquivel, an engineering student who suggests that “men are more willing to force [beer] into their taste than women.”

“From a young age, you see your dad drinking beer, your grandpa drinking beer, your brothers, your cousins all drinking

Referring to this as the “break-in phase,” Gabriel suggests that perceived masculinity is an ideal which strongly links itself to the consumption of beer, contrasting its culture with that of coffee drinking.

“A lot of people don’t really like coffee when they start drinking it.” She said. “

“Why have I forced myself to like beer, but haven’t forced myself to drink coffee?”

It seems, then, that a spectrum of answers can be derived from the simple question of whether or not beer is the dominant cultural force that it once was, and whether it’s slow decline in popularity is perhaps a positive outcome after all.

It is, however, undoubtable that despite whatever shift may be occurring, there is still a vocal and passionate crowd whose appreciation for sweet golden nectar will never be questioned.

So, is beer still the boss of summer?

The statistics tell us one thing.

But perhaps the crowds at the pub will tell us another.

Being from a rural background, most of the fine residents of Sydney’s wealthier suburbs are quite surprised when I tell them I actually quite enjoy doing things like “reading” and “writing”. Also, no, I don’t count sheep when I go to sleep and, no, I can’t name all of my cows.

Danushi Perera ArtworkHot & Cold TakesJack Nivison Feature

I Think Capitalism Just Started Benefitting Me…What Now?

by Sanjana Jose

I work at a skyrise office overlooking Sydney. It’s exactly what you would imagine: fluorescently lit, uncomfortably cold and open plan. Conversations overheard go something like: “I need the numbers for next quarter by COB” and “The forecast for Singapore isn’t looking too good.”

While the office feels like a regular office, there are features that may make any corporate sceptic do a double-take. We sit on $1000 Herman-Miller chairs (did you know chairs could cost that much?) while IT give away Airpods like their careers depend on it. Oh, and there’s an unlimited supply of free food on any given day.

Much to my chagrin, my colleagues aren’t the blood-curdling, money-hungry corporate big dogs I expected them to be. They’re pretty human: David* is getting married in September, Patrick plays padel with his friends after work, and Savannah travels around the world scuba diving.

Capitalism ≠ suck

Capitalism, a system that my five-year humanities degree has ingrained a healthy amount of cynicism towards, has now started rewarding me. I have a stable income, insurance, sick leave, free Sprite whenever I feel like it, and one time a chef came into the office to make us waffles.

Tech company perks, hey?

Illustration by Hana Thomson

Though often seen as a buzzword, the company has also taken a pivot towards corporate responsibility: volunteering, donation matching and diversity networks, to name a few.

So my moral compass is satiated, for now.

The true benefit though, is the ability to disassociate. When I’m at work, I clock out at 5pm. Of course, I care about the quality of my work and have an unequivocal need to impress authority figures. But, there’s not much at stake: work ends promptly at dusk and I can leave it behind without so much as an afterthought.

Without the burden of moral responsibility and with the support of a basic intern salary, I’ve been able to travel, go to endless brunches and take up various hobbies like pottery, tufting, bouldering, and baking, all of which I’d given up.

Kids call it quiet quitting, but really, a corporate-centric job gave me the freedom to… not care.

Capitalism = suck

I may be enjoying all the fruits capitalism has to offer right now, but it becomes seemingly more difficult to take delight when I think about the precedent it has set. Corporate culture has made a name for itself in the mainstream – and it’s not good.

Uni graduates when they earn their first paycheck:

Allegations of racism, bullying, and 80-hour work weeks are just some of the claims to come out of global corporate companies.

As recent as August, the alleged consequences of poor company culture rocked Sydney, with a woman taking her own life in her workplace.

5 years from now

Perhaps in a few years, the futility of working for a company will outweigh the benefits that seem so shiny.

For now, I think I’m just going to continue savouring the free cupcakes. I’m loving all this free time, both physically and mentally.

*Names changed for privacy

Sanj is in her final year of International Studies and Media (Comms and Journalism). She takes being a Swiftie very seriously – if she’s not napping on public transport, you can probably find her scrolling through hours of reels watching Taylor Swift easter egg theories.

Follow the author here: Instagram: @sanjana_jose

I’ve become capitalism’s bitch and I am not proud of it.

Illustration by Katelin Jaegers

T/W: Suicide

Bagel Liberalism

A critical take on the Daniels’ latest A24 hit by Nicole Cadelina take Daniels’ latest A24 hit

by Nicole Cadelina

Illustration by Katelin Jaegers

When Everything Everywhere All at Once released earlier this year, many Asians in diaspora viewed the film’s success as a major win for Asian representation. Directed by Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert (‘the Daniels’), the maximalist comedy-drama received critical acclaim for its unique take on the multiverse narrative. With memorable performances from Michelle Yeoh and Ke Huy Quan, many Asian viewers praise the film for its comedic yet heartfelt portrayal of generational conflicts between Asians and their migrant parents.

However, the hype has barely swayed the vocal minority who express more pressing opinions about Everything Everywhere Despite the film harnessing a strong Asian American voice, there’s a small percentage of Asian viewers with equally strong critiques – including myself.

In recent decades, Asian-centred narratives have gradually taken over American cinema, with works like The Farewell and Minari setting the bar for future Asian filmmakers. Although these films both empower and affirm their largely diasporic audience, it’s imperative to question how they represent identity and culture, and who really consumes these narratives. Asian reviewers on LetterboxD – a platform dedicated to reviewing and logging films – have vented their frustrations with Everything Everywhere’s portrayals of Asian identity. These reviews have opened certain enquiries into Western spectatorship.

“[I’m] starting to think that Asian Americans have been so far removed from their own culture,” reads one review, “it is literally impossible for them to see themselves outside of … stereotypes defined by the West.”

“Beautiful adventures on the outside; nothing else on the inside,” writes another. “Levels of maximal[ism] activate the sometimes funny bone but also the tiring sense of being Asian that remains on the surface.”

LetterboxD reviewer SupremeLemon wrote a critical half-star review detailing the many racial stereotypes presented in Everything Everywhere; from “the close-minded elderly patriarch,” tiger mums, and scenes of martial arts, to the “confused but rebellious [first] generation kid … who embraces the rebellious Asian Baby Girl aesthetic.” He further examines the tokenised representation of Asians in a later paragraph. “I see Asian people and Asian culture,” he explains, “but Asianness is merely consecrated and desecrated as ornamental artifice or aesthetic objects that epitomise the congealment of commodification … this Asianness is primarily designed to appeal to a non-Asian (white) audience or boba liberals who seek validation through non-Asian (white) approval.”

The commodification of Asian identities is what concerns me as an Asian Australian viewer. If Everything Everywhere dealt with white families instead, would this film achieve the same successes it had now?

This tokenisation in Everything Everywhere prevents us from interrogating the distinctions between Asian diaspora and homeland. The Daniels leave no room for examining the complexities of Chinese identity and culture. More broadly speaking, they refuse to understand the nuances of Eastern collectivism that sit at the crux of many Asian families. While Asian families are commonly associated with strict parenting and conservative traditions, we also tend to overlook their more positive values – collective love languages, devotion to selflessness, and generational knowledge, to name a few. An ideal world would imagine diasporic Asians committed to understanding the strengths and weaknesses of their culture, the same way many Asian parents recognise Western liberalism as a double-edged sword.

Nicole

“It’s imperative to question how they represent identity and culture, and who really consumes these narratives.”

These traits of Eastern collectivism remain virtually unacknowledged in Everything Everywhere. Instead, the Daniels overlook these enquiries and offer nihilism as a quick-fix solution. By the third act, the message of “nothing matters, just be kind” simply discourages this cultural scrutiny, forcing us to accept “kindness” as a perfect, end-all cure to tiger mums, homophobic relatives, and generational trauma. It’s a sitcom happy ending that co-opts the premise of a millennial-targeted self-help book.

Consequently, this creates a pan-Asian narrative that is supposedly emblematic of diasporic Asians. In reality, generational conflicts entail multiple solutions for Asians of different backgrounds. What does a “happy ending” look like to a Filipino family in Australia? Is it any different to Korean Canadians or Japanese Americans? Solutions to these complicated issues are far from simple, and involve much more than a basic, one-size-fits-all life lesson.

While Asian viewers can relate to the family conflicts found in Everything Everywhere, I also fear that these types of films perpetuate another stereotype – that all Asian families are dysfunctional, toxic, and close-minded. Nobody should have to accept that growing up with a healthy Asian family is near impossible. The last thing I want is for Asian audiences to antagonise their migrant parents, the same way Jobu Tupaki resents Evelyn across the multiverse.

Although my criticism for Everything

Everywhere is a hill I will die on, I often forget that I have friends who connect with this film. I know Asian friends who are queer and struggle with conservative families; friends who are deeply connected to their culture and homeland; friends who see Asian identity beyond its tokenism. These friends of mine loved this film. So, is it right for me to tell them that they shouldn’t love this work? That it’s wrong for them to identify with Asian stereotypes?

Of course, it’s never right to rob people of their validation. Respect is always principle in any discourse – I find it more productive to be critical than cynical. I’m grateful for those who’ve listened to me criticise with an open mind, even if most discussions end with an agree-to-disagree resolution. And as a nonChinese Asian, listening to Chinese viewers who both loved and hated the film not only taught me compassion towards different perspectives, but also to take accountability for my own opinions.

Unfortunately, there’s an assumption that Asian viewers who critique these kinds of films are either ungrateful for representation or turning their backs on other Asians. This is never the case. The truth is we shouldn’t take these representations for granted and assume that every Asian-centred narrative is a win for everyone. Our identities shouldn’t have to be reduced to recycled memes on Subtle Asian Traits, daily rewatches of Crazy Rich Asians, and hauling merchandise from 88Rising. There’s more to us than the sugary sweet pearls that render us palatable to the Western gaze.

As Asians in diaspora, we deserve stories that reflect authentic experiences over contrived stereotypes. It’s time that we aim for the stars and call for complexity, not commodity.

Nicole Cadelina is a writer and artist based in Blacktown (Dharug), completing her final year in Bachelor of Fine Arts/Arts. Inspired by Robert Bresson and Louise Glück, she writes poetry and creates art that reflects the nature of limerence and love-comradeship. Her favourite genre of film is SBS World Movies After 9pm.

Unapologetic Fangirl

Hot & Cold Takes

“It’s a sitcom happy ending that co-opts the premise of a millennialtargeted selfhelp book.”

Feature

Ung

Little thing: The right cup of coffee

by Diya Rajgor

I don’t remember my first time tasting it, it took a lot of fli rt and foreplay to even get me to possess Whether it was pleasant or “just right”

I remember biting my lip, since it was aforetime heated affair.

The bitterness rested on my tongue, prickling it lightly with every caressing sip, You see such passion grows on you and then the deep ends of it drown you. It isn’t always love at first sight/glance/taste but a soul brewing connection that leaves your body in chills.

Like ocean tides, frequently come and go

We drown in the affection of endless waves- crashing Until we touch the shore, softly. The after taste begins to run your fingers on the back of your neck. You wouldn’t know the thirst for it until you’re forbidden of it. The attachment was overwhelming how wanting each other was displeasing but one bit of interaction felt heavenly... now it’s habitual now it’s comforting Now- it’s us.

Hey there! I’m Diya (20). I’m currently in my first year of Journalism and Communication. I’ve been passionate about writing almost all my life but fell in love with poetry during lockdown in 2020. I believe in the little things in life and my poetry often represents the same.

Illustration and Design by Kelly Quach

Cold

Hot & Cold TakesArtworkDanushi Perera Hot & Cold TakesArtworkDanushi Perera

by Dominique Lakis

Before setting out into Newtown, I looked through my closet for the last two items of clothing I had bought. One was a pair of Nepalese pants that were handmade from cotton, dyed with natural colouring and, according to fair trade, were ethically made. The other is a warm jumper from Groovin’ the Moo with a giant lobster printed on the front. At first look, it is conceivable to think that, out of the two, the pants are considerably more ethical and have a minimal impact on the environment. However, if you take into account transportation, just 100 pairs of these pants would produce close to 462kg of CO2 emissions.

As the necessity for up-cycling clothes is moving to the forefront of younger generations’ minds, their attempt to halt the climate crisis is undermined by the everaccelerating costs of secondhand clothes.

novelty items, such as unique vintage rock shirts from the 80s/90s that have dry rot, and turn them into high-waisted pants.

Illustration by Katelin Jaegers

As you walk down Enmore Road and watch it turn into King Street you will pass a smattering of high-end boutiques, cafes, restaurants, bars and some infamous pubs.

In this cross-section of streets, there are six stores specifically for recycled clothing.

Newtown has the highest concentration of second-hand stores in Sydney and, like the real estate industry, location is key when evaluating the cost of the clothes.

As vintage has become fashionable again, demand inflates the prices in these stores despite a high concentration of stores in the area.

Fast fashion has quickly become the black sheep of clothing, as young people have become aware of the devasting effect fast fashion has on the climate. Each year Australians purchase an average of 27kg of new clothing and discard approximately 23kg to landfill. This puts Australia at number 2 for global textile consumption, just behind the United States. Putting it in plain terms, our clothing waste is enough to fill the Sydney Harbour every year.

The second-hand fashion industry can be categorized into two groups: the direct recycling of clothes or the repurposing of them into new products. When clothes are repurposed, companies take the material they are made from and then integrate them into new clothes so that waste is minimized. Storeroom in Newtown takes

In Newtown, U-turn has two stores diagonally opposite each other and they recycle whole products. One store sells vintage clothing for everyday use with a select few designers and high-class labels scattered throughout their stock. The other U-turn store has a significant number of high-end labels with a greater number of products available. In the first U-turn store, a women’s North Face Fleece jacket that would sell for $140 at market value is valued at $89. In the higher-end store, an everyday male t-shirt goes for $39 whereas a kid’s pair of Gucci sneakers is $289. A women’s Tory Burch evening shirt which would usually go for north of $148 brand new, but is valued at $199 in the secondhand store.

In both of U-turn’s stores, a single pair of jeans can range from $59-$79. This is approximately half the price of a new pair of Levi jeans and close to double the cost of new Target jeans. According to the 2022 Fashion Transparency Index Levi and Strauss co. have a total score of 41-50%. This score assesses the label’s ethical production, environmental impact and dedication to transparency and improvement of the processes of production. Interestingly enough, Target Australia scored 81-90%, landing amongst the top three that were examined by Fashion Revolution.

Newtown Vintage 313 stocks a combination of repurposed clothes and recycled ones. With a range of exquisite old school leather jackets ranging from $145-$225, you might once have been able to buy the motorcycle to go with them for that price. However, ladies, you will get a relative steal for Levi’s at $45, to go with a comfortable Nike jumper ($45) or maybe a casual blouse ($20). When asked how they get the products that they repurpose, Leila, an assistant at Newtown Vintage 313, said: “a lot of it we bought wholesale from Europe and the US and then we have in-house sewers who repurpose the garments for us in Marrickville.”

A single pair of Levi and Strauss jeans produced in Bengaluru, India, then shipped to Los Angeles and purchased at wholesale price by an Australian store to be re-purposed into shorts would produce a carbon footprint of approximately 4.38kg. Newtown Vintage 131 is one of three stores I went to that buys stock from the U.S. and ships it to Australia for the sole purpose of repurposing it.

Now my story into the sustainable fashion industry is rather an unremarkable one. I simply studied textiles in high school and had a teacher that showed us that every step in the production process. Starting from the production of materials, weaving fabrics and manufacturing clothes uses an obscene amount of water, electricity, and human labour, and produces devastating chemicals.

Do not take away from this that the importance of recycling clothes is invalidated by secondhand stores or that these stores are not vital in reducing textile waste. It is more important for you to focus on what your own values are when it comes to fashion and then make judgements according to that. If you want that latest dress from Princess Polly or ZARA, just understand where it came from and who produced it. Or if you prefer second hand stores, question if the prices you pay and the transportation-related carbon emissions undermine the morality and necessity of them in reducing textile waste.

What you take away and do next is up to you. Personalised preference is the cornerstone of the fashion industry.

Dominique is studying a bachelor of International Sudies and Media (Communication and Journalism) at UNSW. She has been reporting for Tharunka since the beginning of 2022. She is passionate about women’s rights, human interest stories and the environment.

Dominique

Dominique Lakis

“Manufacturing clothes uses an obscene amount of water, electricity, and human labour, and produces devastating chemicals.”

Design by Bhavi Jariwala

My Other Sister by Katya Eagles

My sister’s body becomes state’s matter. Men in expensive suits

Always know better

What should be the colour of her boots

What and when to dress

They know the ideal width of women’s waist

They know all facts: From the history of mother earth

To when my sisters should give birth. My sister loses her life

In a ruthless strife

In an aimless war Because men in expensive suits Wanted more to own, and be adored By other men, for their power attributes.

My pain erupts and stays contained For I am no soldier, I am no man I do not kill, I do not plan To rule them all

And to decide upon What others are, What are their fates. My pain is linked to others Shackled in a cold chain With the bitter world of raging pain Of all sisters, girls and mothers.

Katya is a recent immigrant from Belarus, the last European dictatorship, knows some stuff about struggling and existential crises. In her free time, she loves to suffer physically through training Muay Thai and mentally through juggling work and her master’s degree. She also loves poetry, cats, teas and scented candles.

Facebook: Katya Eagles

Hot & Cold Takes

Hot & Cold TakesPoemKatya Eagles Poem

Katya Eagles

DUE TIMES CAN BE CLASSIST

BY ISOBEL SPIES

Odd due times do not benefit students, and negatively affect a disproportionate number of working students.

In 2020, 84% of tertiary students aged 20-24 had some form of employment, with prepandemic (2019) numbers at 89%. Many of us, including myself, working in the retail or hospitality sector with available hours between 9 am and 5-6 pm; — some academics insist on setting due times at odd hours such as 9 am or 5 pm rather than the standard 11:59 pm.

There could be many reasons for this choice. They may be concerned for us, setting the due time at 5 pm so that any last-minute panic finalising an assignment will not keep students up late. It could be they want to get started marking right away, at 9:01 am.

What some course conveners fail to take into account when setting assessments is the confusion odd due times can lead to and the negative effects it has on working students.

For those working a 9-5:30 shift, the opening hours of most retail stores, a 5 pm due time can mean losing almost a full day on an assignment; at the very least, a couple of hours are lost. One could be forced to scoff lunch down in a dingy backroom, hotspotting a laptop, hoping the assignment goes through turnitin before getting back to work.

The need for more thought around students’ work situations is heightened as UNSW's special considerations policy does not include work commitments (unless they are unexpected or unavoidable).

Admittedly, my internalised boomer bias did rear its head while writing this article. Suck it up, buttercup. Why does this matter? No one has an identical life in the real world, snowflake, and university is preparing you for that.

Universities set the expectation of the idea of equitable learning as an expectation. It is true that not all students have the same livelihoods outside of uni and it is impossible to reach a point of truly equitable learning in such a large institution. However, if UNSW wants to embrace our collaborative… academic environment this must involve a dialogue between students and teaching staff around the realities of student’s’ lives and how uni assignments affect them, rather than a myExperience survey at the end of the term that no one completes anyway.

Isobel is a 3rd year arts student majoring in Theatre Studies and Politics and International Relations. Her interests include Australian politics, pop culture, theatre, journalism and trashy Netflix originals.

ILLUSTRATION BY JELENA XU

Recently, I was running late to work and looking a complete mess. A truck full of tradies thought differently though and wound their windows to holler crude things at me. It was an infuriating experience but there was nothing I could do to change it, so I just let it go.

A few days later however, my fury was reignited. My 16-year-old sister had come home and told me that a man in his car had honked and whistled at her when she was walking to the bus stop. Really? At 7:30 in the morning? She was in school uniform. She was clearly a child. That was the final straw.

So ‘Men’, here I go. It’s 2022. You should all be aware by now that there is nothing complimentary about loudly and publicly ‘hitting on’ a stranger in the street. We are sick of you honking at us, yelling at us from the top of construction sites, and approaching us when we are alone. Enough is enough.

Right now, the collective conscience about misogyny and rape culture is at an all-time high. We are seeing a global reckoning of the male power and entitlement that has infected our largest industries and institutions. People are angry and change is brewing, but we still haven’t figured out how to stop misogyny at its most basic level: catcalling.

In 2018, a survey by Plan Australia found that almost 1 in 4 women in Sydney experience street harassment at least once a month. To make matters worse, 4 out of 5 of those women say they first experienced street harassment when they were under 18.

Further, in July this year sexual assault reports in Australia hit a new high, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics. If we want to change the culture of misogyny and violence against women on a grand scale, we need to work on the ‘small’ stuff first.

Welcome to my step-by-step guide to finally getting rid of catcalling

1. Make the scumbag squirm: whip out your phone and start recording them

Name and shame catcallers on social media. It worked with anti-masking Karen’s, so why wouldn’t it work with a catcaller? Every major city in the country needs an Instagram account that people can anonymously submit catcalling incidents to.

You share a photo, video, or quote of what happened, and the exact location of where the incident took place. It would be a triple whammy: alerting women to places that could be unsafe, raising awareness about local street harassment, and publicly shaming scummy men! Check out New York City’s account for my inspiration (@catcallsofnyc).

2. Nip shitty behaviour in the bud

We need to incorporate education about respecting women into school curriculums. We could start by getting young men to listen to this awesome podcast by Eleanor Gordon-Smith. She pulls two men aside after they’ve catcalled her in King’s Cross, confronts them, and then tries to convince them not to do it anymore. When put on the spot like that, the men actually reconsidered their actions. It’s an incredible insight into the catcalling male’s psyche, and has real potential to change a young man’s mind about the impact catcalling has on women.

3. Make them feel our fear

Create a Virtual Reality simulation to put catcallers in our shoes. They would walk down a dingey street, with women accosting them from all directions. Yelling lewd phrases at them, whistling at them, following them, honking car horns at them… I feel like a vengeful genius just thinking about it.

Plus, we wouldn’t have to worry about the ethics of ‘giving them some perspective’ because it’s not even real!

4. Criminalise street harassment. For real.

On par with theft or drink driving, make catcalling an enforceable offence, with fines or community service, or even jail time for some. We need to hold men accountable with real consequences for their actions. It’s already been done in countries like France. So it’s time we do the same.

5. Mass brainwashing

If all else fails, we erase catcalling from collective memory of society. Easy peasy.

Paul Kelly once said, “from little things, big things grow”. We have trivialised the ‘little’ things like catcalling and groping and now, we’re faced with the misogynistic monster it has grown into: rape culture, where the sexualisation and abuse of women’s bodies is normal.

“I got paid to write essays for students.

Here’s what I’ve learned.”

Welcome to the wild – and surprisingly widespread – world of online assessment cheating services sold mostly on WeChat. Read how people fall into the trap of paying hundreds, even thousands of dollars for essays to be written for them, or even exams to be sat for them, only to pay the same people even more to write appeal letters for them when the Academic Board catches on. We interviewed a former insider.

“I’ve so much to talk about. I could talk about this for 10 hours.”

This is what a UNSW Student I got to interview, whom we’re going to call ‘Z’ in this article, had to say about the unregulated industry of assessment cheating, whose main customers are international students, and those who can afford it’s monumental price tags. Read what they had to say below.

Alex: Approximately how many people do you know have cheated at least once?

Z: I know quite a few people from undergrad and postgrad as well … at least 50 people since I started uni.

Alex: Do you know how much they charge for sitting exams or writing essays for you?

Z: Everything has gone up, but the last time I asked about sitting exams, it was like, wow. $700 for a two-hour [exam]. I haven’t got the quote for essay writing … international

by Alex Neale

students pay like 50K a year for fees ... Some of them that buy sneakers, it’s like $1,500 just for sneakers. This is nothing to them.

The ‘company’ is charging 10 times what they’re paying you (the writer), but if you’re doing freelance work, you could very easily undercut them.

Alex: Tell me about your time working in one of these ghostwriting businesses.

Z: I quit after a few months because the pay was too low and it was too demanding.

They charged students a lot, but they give the writers very little. Freelancing [makes it] really hard to source your own clients .

As a freelancer, I only knew a few people through close connections. Like I don’t advertise myself massively because it’s too risky. Now I’ve stopped the whole thing completely.

Alex: How good are the essays people pay for?

Z: If you worked for a company that sells this sort of material and an essay you wrote failed the client, they would require you to pay the money back to them.

Let’s say after writing this essay, they (the business) pay you $200; if the client didn’t get the desired mark, they want you to give them back the whole $200. So, you basically did all the work, and you earn nothing.

Alex: And how are they getting away with this? How do they make you give the money back?

Z: You don’t sign a contract because you have to protect yourself. This is illegal work. If you don’t give it back, they’ll contact your university to tell them that you’re a ghostwriter and whatnot. But luckily, when I registered for this company, I gave them a fake ID and a fake academic transcript, so I didn’t return the money to them and I just blocked them.

But for one of the clients that I source privately, he knew too much about me and I was really scared that he will sabotage me (if I didn’t give the money back). So, I had no choice but to return the whole amount to him.

Alex: Who was your boss when you worked at the cheating ‘company’?

Z: I don’t know his name. Basically, you add a contract cheating company’s WeChat, and all the communications are done through [the business’] WeChat account.

There’ll be, like, a ‘Jim’s Cheating Services’ … for all the communication, you message ‘Jim’s Cheating Services’ on WeChat. You don’t know what the other person’s name is. And when you get onto a group chat (with other ghostwriters), the Jim’s Cheating Services account will post jobs.

Alex: How much time are you given to complete an essay?

Z: 24 hours, a month, two weeks, it depends. The shorter the timeframe, the higher the rate.

Alex: How difficult is it to cheat on assessments?

Z: Nowadays during pre-pandemic days everything was face-to-face, I know of some cases of people cheating and (paying others for) writing essays, but in exams it’s quite hard to cheat because like, you are in a room.

[If] you’re a pandemic baby … you wouldn’t understand what I mean. I did my undergrad before the pandemic and [had] exams, like final exams, even quizzes. You have to sit in the lecture hall or in the uni and it’s all pen and paper … I feel like now with online classes, I think the cheating rate has definitely gone up.

It’s really dumb … like I remember one international student in my course, a student during a quiz in a tutorial … and put (his) phone on his table and he took photos of the readings, browsing his phone while doing the quiz. And I was like, dude, that’s so obvious. And finally the tutor caught him.

Now there are many instances if the exam is online. People share screens through Zoom and they give each other answers and things, or they ... take a photo of the question and message on WeChat.

Alex: What about those currently writing essays for people?

Z: They’re getting smarter and smarter each year. I’ve blocked more than a hundred ghostwriters on my WeChat. No joke … during my undergrad the ghostwriters were quite dumb. They’d go into group chats (those for specific classes), and just outright post their services in the group chat, and the group admin will just kick them out of the group.

If you are not a current student of UNSW they wouldn’t let you in the groups. Writers know that these groups have like 300 to 400, or even 500 students in that group. Obviously, it’s a good place to sell their services. They photoshop a Confirmation of Enrollment, or even Student ID to pretend they’re [a] legit student at UNSW … and then they get into these group chats, start adding the students in the group chats to pretend that they are [classmates] doing this course as well.

There were a few that added me this year. I blocked at least 50. It was so annoying.

Alex: How do they get you to buy their ‘services’?

Z: They’re trying to be friendly with you. They’re trying to make themselves seem like they’re really cool people. You thought they were your peer, and then suddenly a few weeks or one month later, their whole social media account changed. It’s all inundated with ghostwriting advertisements. And then, instead of messaging you to talk about uni, they start messaging you like, “hi, are you interested in your exams being taken by us or your essays being written by us”?

Let’s say the ghost writer, ‘Alice’ for example, added you on Facebook and then she says she’s a UNSW student. And when you look at her Facebook account, she’s posting stuff about her daily life. You think she’s your peer, right? And even on Facebook messenger, you talk to her about uni and whatnot and then suddenly, one month later, Alice stops posting about her daily life. Every post on her Facebook is about ghostwriting assignments.

“You thought they’re your peer, and then suddenly a few weeks later, their whole social media account changed, it’s all inundated with ghostwriting advertisements.”

And then on Facebook messenger, she starts messaging you and says, “hi Alex, are you interested in your essays being written by our professional team? Are you interested in our professional team sitting exams for you?” It’s the same account. But after you gain their trust they change everything to ghostwriting ads.

And because WeChat has a function [where] you can set it so people can only view your posts from the past three days or like the past months, you don’t know what they’ve posted before.

Before every single assignment and final exam and midterm and UNSW, a lot of ghostwriters @ me, and they are so specific - “do you want me to help you with your assignment for this subject?” - They even know which subjects you are doing. And they time it: they know when exam time is and they send a friend request a few days before the exams ... some of them, they’re really blunt. When you send people phone requests on WeChat, you can also put a message underneath an intro. When they send your friend request (they’ll) immediately say “ECON5103, do you want me to help you with the midterm?”

Design and illustration by Bhavi Jariwala

“I feel like now with online... the cheating rate has definitely gone up.”

“You have to protect yourself. This is illegal work.”

Alex: Does this get many sales?

Z: Some of them are really dumb. They say they do the same course as you and then, because I’m really scared that they’re ghost writers, I say, “can you please show me your timetable as evidence that you’re a legit student for this course?” Usually a legit student will show you their timetable … the ghostwriters will get really pissed off … then you obviously know it’s a ghostwriter. [Then] they send you a fake timetable. It was so funny. There was this one, she said she was in the same class as me for this postgraduate course. When I asked her for one, she sent me a Bachelor of Arts undergrad timetable.

Alex: Can you think of any reasons people might decide to cheat on assessments?

Z: People are coming from overseas. They don’t know English, so they can’t really function in class. And they’re paying for essays to get around that.

“People are coming from overseas. They don’t know English ... and they’re paying for essays to get around that.”

Once in my undergrad, I was really pressed for time. I did engage a service to, um, write for me. I paid like 200 Yuan, around 50 dollars or something like that.

I only found someone to write something for me in my undergrad, but I’m not stupid — a lot of people I know, they just pay the ghostwriters and, whatever the ghostwriter sends them, they submit to uni immediately … so they just use the ghostwriter’s essay and send it without

even looking at it. This is really risky because some ghostwriters aren’t reliable. Some are scams. And I know a lot of people who have been scammed.

There are many horror stories … a few people from the same uni engaging the same ghostwriter, and the ghostwriter was lazy. They’d just write one essay and send it to five students, and when these five people upload it and Turnitin checks it, they all get sent to the academic board and all immediately get failed.

Once I got back the essay, I’d paraphrase the whole thing again. And I did the readings as well … and then I add my ideas at some parts of the essay . So, although I paid for [the] service, I don’t use it a hundred percent. I still add my own points and tweak it. Then I submit it to the uni. I just use them as a springboard, because I didn’t have time to think of any ideas.

Alex: How much time did you save when you cheated in that instance?

Z: To be honest, it was pointless. I still had to do my readings. I still had to paraphrase and rework some stuff, so it still took me like three to four hours. In the future, moving forward, I just write it on my own and edit it on my own. That’s the only time I’ve done it, because I was pressed for time.

Alex: What happens if you’re caught employing these services?

Some people actually started a business for students to help them to appeal against academic dishonesty, and they charge exorbitant fees. [They] help people who receive allegations from the university about academic misconduct and write the appeal letter to the university [on the student’s behalf], or even tell you how to answer the Academic Board’s meetings, questions and whatnot. They do everything for them, or act as an advice service, like a tax agent. And they charge like $2,000 to $3,000 or even $6,000.

Alex: So they’ve continued to pay one of these businesses … thousands upon thousands upon thousands of dollars in this neverending spiral?

I know someone [on WeChat] who, who owns an academic dishonesty appeal company. She always posts all these successful cases on her social media account to gain traction. It costs a lot, — at least $2,000, Tharunka reached out to the UNSW Academic Integrity unit seeking clarification on some of the claims Z made in this interview. A UNSW Spokesperson’s response included: or even $6,000 just to help you with the appeal process ... depending on how complex the case is.

Alex: It’s been a fascinating and eyeopening conversation. Thank you so much for sitting down. I know not everyone would be willing to do this.

Z: I knew that it would be eye opening for you because if you don’t use WeChat or you don’t really contact Chinese students, you don’t know so much of these operations.

Tharunka reached out to the UNSW Academic Integrity unit seeking clarification on some of the claims Z made in this interview. A UNSW Spokesperson’s response included:

UNSW Sydney is aware of services providing advice to students for use during the academic misconduct appeal process. Our advice would be that students only seek advice from Arc Legal and Advocacy services, who are knowledgeable in this process.

Engaging a contract cheating company to assist in preparing an appeal response may expose students to similar dangers associated with contract cheating including blackmail, extortion, and identity theft.

Figures from the 2021 Student Conduct and Complaints annual report show there were 909 cases of academic misconduct determined by the Conduct & Integrity Office. There were 42 appeals lodged. Of the cases, only three appeals were successfully upheld. In some cases, an appeal resulted in a case being reconsidered but did not materially affect the outcome. None of the successful appeals last year resulted in changes to the original ‘fail’ grade imposed.

Alex squeezes writing time in between its Arts degree double majoring in English and Creative Writing, building it’s elaborate, original fantasy world, and a bizarre obsession with sports leagues in countries he will never visit.

“To be honest, it [cheating] was pointless.”

Read Part 1 online: tharunka.com/is-aisec-a-cult-we-investigated-part-1/

Inside AIESEC

What About the Money? (Part 2)

by Emma Partis

In early T2 2022, a post appeared on UNSW reddit posing a simple, intriguing question – is AIESEC at UNSW a cult? A simple Google search revealed many with the same question, with others recounting strange experiences with the organisation. This 3-part series will dive into students’ experiences with AIESEC, following interviews with both current and former members of AIESEC in Australia.

AIESEC markets itself as an NGO that develops leadership in young people, but ex-members have expressed concern that their AIESEC experience was less about leadership, and more about selling its own products. This apparent focus is also a reason why some have labelled AIESEC as a ‘cult’ or ‘pyramid scheme’.

AIESEC executives interviewed by Tharunka said that accusations of being a cult or pyramid scheme are largely a result of “people not fully understanding how the finances work in AIESEC.”

Upon joining the organisation, Subcommittee members told Tharunka that, after joining the organisation, their role was essentially to sell AIESEC’s products to other students.

Jenny* told Tharunka that, in AIESEC, the experience of ’selling things’ was framed as ’self-empowerment and leadership’ to sub-com members, which she said was ’really quite exploitative and manipulative.’ According to her, AIESEC executives would justify cold calling and stalling as a way to “get confidence” and learn “communication skills.” Former members we spoke to were tasked with cold calling people during the induction process before joining the society officially.

She Jenny described the culture as being similar to multilevel marketing – “the people are all ‘selfimprovement’, ‘empowering’, and ‘buy my $50 water cooler”.

Prior to the pandemic, AIESEC primarily made its money by selling international exchange experiences to university students. Nowadays, their main product is their “Heading

for the Future” program, a 2-week simulated internship. Taylor* said that “I don’t know if AIESEC truly functions to empower ‘cause there was always a lot of emphasis on getting as much sign ups (sign ups = money) as possible rather than trying to focus on those that did [sign up].”

Of his experiences selling AIESEC products, ex-member Jake* said that “As a first-year student I was like, what am I doing here?” While he did talk to a lot of new people through this experience, he described it as “you aren’t speaking to them, you are trying to sell them a product.”

The ex-members also recalled being tasked to meet KPIs regarding these sales – “x amount of cold calls, x amount of emails, x messages back, x zoom meetings.” one ex member said.

“I don’t think they were bad people,” Jenny believes, “I think they genuinely started to think that going up to strangers and trying to sell this $10 thing was empowering.”

On a given day where AIESEC would have an on-campus stall, according to Jenny, once someone put their name down on the EOI form, AIESEC would monitor which of those entries were converted into online registrations. For those who didn’t sign up, members were required to “call them and convince them to sign up”, as well as attempt to book a zoom call with them to ‘“talk through the benefits”' of the exchange. Jenny faked all of her KPIs, falsely reporting to higher-ups that those she called simply failed to pick up.

“I wouldn’t want to be in the other person’s position," she said.

Members, she explained, would be guilted at on-campus stalls when they hadn’t “had a sign-up” during the day.

Jake, who was involved during T1 2020, was tasked to do an hour of cold calls every day.

“In order to get 2-3 people interested, you had to cold call so many people.”

On cold calling, current AIESEC UNSW president Alex conceded said that it’s “definitely something we used to do a lot,” but he understood that it was not suited for everyone. “When I first did it, it was probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done – now when I need to call someone I’m fine, I have more confidence and I can manage a conversation,” he told us.

However, he noted that cold calling wasn’t something AIESEC did much of anymore, as

“[It’s] something businesses are moving away from more broadly.”

He said that KPIs are still used currently, but stressed that these were optional and determined by members themselves. He told me that there were no set goals like “you must get 10 people”, and that hard KPIs such as those were “not how my exec team has been leading”.

When she was involved, Jenny recounts, AIESEC UNSW was “really stingy with the budget” in terms of running external events for students. She noted that, more recently, they’ve been “splurging a lot more” with more free programs and events.

Alex noted that, as with any society, the way AIESEC UNSW is run depends heavily on the current exec team. He recounted that the way AIESEC is running currently is more external-facing than it may have previously been, with a bigger focus on free events for the benefit of UNSW students.

It appears that AIESEC also accepts donations to “further [their] goals of providing leadership development experiences through students and young people”.

According to Jenny, all of the work is done by unpaid sub-com, and that the money gets “channelled away to pay salaries of higher-ups”.

“I don’t think (AIESEC) is enriching UNSW at all”.

*Pseudonyms used to protect interviewees’ privacy

“the money gets “channelled away to pay salaries of higher-ups”.”

“In order to get 2-3 people interested, you had to cold call so many people.”

“I don’t think AIESEC is enriching UNSW at all.”

“I think they genuinely started to think that going up to strangers and trying to sell this $10 thing was empowering.”

Inside AIESEC Exchange Students Left Stranded (Part 3)

Aside from the internal student experience, damning articles and posts online detail the experiences of those that were scammed or even abandoned overseas by AIESEC after signing up to one of their exchange programs.

Being a mostly student-run organisation, it’s essentially up to student volunteers to organise the exchange experiences of their paying peers including accommodation, visas and work arrangements.

“There wasn’t a designated person to speak to. Accommodation was just in people’s houses,” Jake* told Tharunka.

He could not recall from his time in AIESEC a system for organising accommodation.

“You had to facilitate that process (by yourself).”

This has led to numerous horror stories. This article details students’ terrifying overseas experiences of being disallowed from leaving internship experiences, being left in unsafe housing conditions and being forced to work in conditions comparable to ‘slave labour’ after embarking on AIESEC-organised exchanges.

It tells the story of a girl who was misled about her placement in student housing, and was placed in a house full of adult men without her knowledge or permission. She was told that the only way that AIESEC would organise alternative housing would be if she bought another internship for over $2088 Brazilian Real (approximately $600 AUD).

According to the article, another student was given misleading advice and inadequate documentation to secure a visa, and was told to lie to a consulate in efforts to get their visa approved.

There have also been questions raised about the value that students get from AIESEC’s paid programs. Such as the ‘fake internship’ program ‘Heading for the Future’.

It is difficult to find out more information, and the EOI now does not function. Jenny*, when she accessed them, found no mention of it costing anything but was “certain it’s in the $100s”.

As described by the current AIESEC members I spoke to, the program is not designed to be an ‘internship’. That is, it’s “not doing actual work, but an environment where you see what the work will actually be like.” They

described it as a simulated experience including the ‘good parts’ of an internship, allowing participants to ‘understand the job more in depth’.

Jenny* also took issue with AIESEC charging students for their ‘leadership activator’ program, which offers activities like case comps and workshops, which other societies at UNSW offer to students for free.

When asked why the cost is in place, Alex said that “we just need the cost there to support the organisation as a whole.” We asked the current execs for their thoughts on AIESEC’s sometimes-used label of ‘cult’.

“I get how it could be seen that way – it hurts, because for me, I don’t think I’m in a cult.

In terms of the ‘pyramid scheme’ accusations, Alex claimed that “people (did) not fully understand how the finances work in AIESEC,” adding that “I have no incentive to [get students’ money].”

Jose added “We just do some quirky things and people draw conclusions.”

As quoted from its website, “If being a cult means a bunch of dedicated, motivated, and passionate people all together — then it is.”

Emma is a reporter for Tharunka and is currently on exchange at The University of Barcelona

*Pseudonyms used to protect interviewees' privacy

“I’d like to think I’d know if I was in a cult”

Illustration by Katelin Jaegers by Emma Partis

WRITERS AND EDITORS

Kelly is a second-year interior architecture student who loves to experiment with different mediums to produce her meaningful art. The medium she uses in her practice ranged from pencils, pens, colour pencils, paints and digital tools. You can follow her creative journey on Instagram, where she posts her process works, inspired precedents, and relatable memes as a fellow artist.

@k.q_designstudio

ARTISTS AND DESIGNERS

Stephanie Ung is a fifthyear Commerce and Design student at UNSW, majoring in Graphics and Digital Media. When she’s not being a potato snuggled up in bed, she loves drawing, eating spicy food, and vibing to Keshi. Her current favourite artists are Audrey Kawasaki and Huang Po Hsun.

Instagram: @faniefairy

Hana Kinoshita Thomson is a 3rd year Design student, specialising in illustration & graphic design. She is passionate about mental health, sustainability, the Japanese language and culture, picture books, and rabbits. She always aims to make work that is colourful, playful and engaging, that puts a smile on your face. You can see her drawings on Instagram: @hanaunderthetree

Bhavi is a first year MPRA student and a graphic designer. She enjoys working in publication and photography. You can follow her Instagram page @loremipsumdolor_ at the risk of not seeing content regularly..

Jelena is someone you often see at the train station looking put together but internally is a hot mess. She enjoys being home most of the time exploring different hobbies. She has recently been self teaching herself to play ukulele. It’s not going so well but oh well. If you see her around campus, don’t be afraid to say hi.

Taseen is a nerd that has just finished her Neuroscience/Creative writing degree. She loves to draw and paint surrealist, maximalism. Her work reflects a journey of wanting to be understood and heard at the same time. Encouraging meaningful conversations, she incorporates humor and her Bangali heritage to explore diverse themes. She is now investing more time into her art and passions.

Instagram: @shubarta_

Danushi is a first year medical student at UNSW who has had an avid interest in painting at a young age. From abstract to impressionism, expressionism to realism, she has a wide range of art. Exploring places, trying new cuisines and napping are few of the things she does when she can free up some time. Having quality time with her family and close friends is what she enjoys most. She believes that passion and willingness to take risks trigger creativity, which is the inspiration for most of her art.

Instagram: @danushi.cp

Casey is one of the sub designers this year. She is currently in her third year of the Bachelor of Media (PR & Advertising) degree.

Ainslie Toombs

Abhranil Hazra

Anja FlamerCaldera Avani Ram

Isobel Spies Dominique Lakis Sanjana Jose

Nicole Cadelina

Katya Eagles Jack Nivison

Emma Partis

Andy Sambar

Find me on LinkedIn: Jelena Xu

Bhavi Jariwala Jelena Xu

Kelly Quach Hana Thomson

Khandoker Taseen

Casey Yu

Danushi Perera Stephanie Ung

Diya Rajgor